I am perpetually searching for a “clean slate;” a perfect, pristine launchpad from which to begin. Buy new clothes? But I’m not in exactly the shape I want to be in. Once I get there, I will build a new wardrobe around my perfect physique! Start a new exercise plan on a Wednesday? But I’ve already squandered Monday and Tuesday. I will begin next Monday, and never falter! Mornings. Mondays. New semesters. 1sts of the month. 1sts of the year. All of these are places where I can begin from, unencumbered by the failings of the past.
And of course, leading up to these new beginnings, anything goes. Starting a new diet on the 1st of the month? By all means, eat worse than I have ever eaten in my entire life until then. Planning to start writing on Monday? Well don’t so much as write down a passing idea before then.
But this lie, at least, I’ve managed to see through. The magic of these points in time only exists in my head. Life has never been quite so accommodating. An unexpected flat tire on Tuesday derails the never-to-be-skipped biking plan. Realizing on Thursday night at 10:00 that I’m out of kale quickly stops the salad for lunch every single weekday diet plan in its tracks. And 1,000 other last minute phone calls, impromptu assignments, adjusted deadlines, and unexpected setbacks mean that there is no perfect starting point, because there is no such thing as the perfect execution of a lifelong plan.
And what’s more, there’s the fact that it’s impossible to devise a perfect plan. My writing regimen? It’s been crafted with hope, but not with experience. My exercise plan came from the back of a DVD; it wasn’t created for me specifically. That diet I found online was put together by someone with a far more robust supermarket, full of exotic nuts and berries. Each plan I’ve set out to follow has required adjustment, and more often than not, wholesale revision. On most occasions, my aspirations have not lined up with my capabilities. Sure, working out at 5 in the morning would mean I never miss my workout. And writing at 5 in the morning would mean I never miss my writing time. But alas, my body and mind don’t function very well about three days into the 5 am wakeup call.
So where does this leave me? If these points of perfect beginning don’t exist, what the hell am I supposed to do? Where the hell am I supposed to start?
Right the hell now.
If the stars don’t ever align, then guess what? I can stop waiting on them to align. I’m free to start at any point. Which is terrifying, because “right now” is terrifying. But that’s what those clean slates have always really been: a way for me to avoid my fear, and feel like I’ve done something. I’ve made a plan. And lucky for me, it doesn’t start right now.
Well I have far more plans than I do finished pages of writing. And I’ve found that I learn more in 5 minutes of doing than in an hour of planning. Does that mean plans are useless? Absolutely not. But plans that always start in the future are plans that are never acted on. And plans that are never acted on are useless.
Today is the first of the month. If you’re expecting it to impart some kind of magic, you’re going to be let down. Does that mean today is a bad day to start whatever it is you’ve planned on starting? Absolutely not. By all means, get to it. But if you slip up on Tuesday, start again on Wednesday. Or better yet, start again on that same damn Tuesday.
The clean slate is nothing more than a mirage. A persuasive one to be sure. But a mirage nonetheless. And here’s the thing about mirages:
They’re great to look at, but they make for shit travel destinations.